


Entering the Arena

by ncfan



Series: Fictober 2018 [9]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Female Character of Color, Fictober 2018, Gen, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 17:51:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16392317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncfan/pseuds/ncfan
Summary: Before the Exile leaves the Academy on Telos to fight the Sith in orbit, Atris has a request. [Written for Fictober 2018]





	Entering the Arena

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt, “How can I trust you?”

It stung. Was it Kalani’s pain or Atris’s? She didn’t think that either of them had been too badly hurt in the bout. For all that Atris was better with a lightsaber than most people expected of a historian and a Consular, for all that she hit _very_ hard, her strikes had been wild and unbalanced, and once the shock wore off, it had been the work of minutes to disarm her. And Kalani had stopped after knocking the lightsaber from Atris’s hand ( _her_ old lightsaber), after knocking Atris to the ground. They had bruises, and nothing worse.

Yet, it stung.

There were other reasons for the stinging, of course. That needed always to be considered.

Kalani took one last look at this strange distortion of a meditation chamber, ghastly red holocrons packed into every vault in the wall. (She did not look at Atris. Could not look at Atris.) If she had the time, she would have liked nothing better than to take every Sith holocron she could find in this barren Academy and destroy them so thoroughly that the galaxy would bear not even the echo of their former existence. She did not have the time, and though she could imagine further harm they could do to the woman who sat doubled-over on the floor before her, it was… Well, she was going to have to risk it, wasn’t she? There were more pressing matters to deal with, and something that was less actively death than it was the embodiment of the entropic cessation of life was coming to Telos. She had no time.

Kalani did not look at Atris, and thus had no difficulty turning on her heel to go.

“Wait.”

But could no more ignore that voice now than she had ever been able to in the past.

When Kalani turned, Atris was getting stiffly (but not with the labor Kalani would have expected of someone who had just had her entire paradigm of the galaxy shattered) to her feet. She brushed off her robes with a familiar flick of the hands that made Kalani ache with nostalgia, though that nostalgia felt like cutting herself open.

It would have been useless to pretend at having complete composure, and even Atris, as strait-laced, as dead-set on putting forward the ultimate in Jedi stoicism and composure, seemed to grasp that. She sighed deeply, tried to smooth out her face, and when that failed at the halfway mark, did not try again. “Wait, Kalani,” and if her voice was softer and weaker than it had been in—Kalani would guess—more than ten years, Kalani made no comment. She was sick of the battles that kept storming at her doorstep. She was sick of this one, most of all.

“Atris, I need to go.” And she was speaking softly, too. It wasn’t a struggle. It wasn’t even something she had to remind herself to do. “I have business in orbit, and it won’t wait.”

“I know,” Atris told her flatly. “I remember. My actions helped bring them here, if you will recall.” She took a step forward, steadier than Kalani would have expected, but then, Atris had had all the training Kalani had had and more. “If you intend to face them head on, I would join you.”

A sick bolt of adrenaline shot through Kalani like lightning. “That’s a change.” Her voice didn’t sound like her own. Given how often she found herself thinking that or something like that, Kalani wondered briefly whether she even properly knew what her voice sounded like anymore. It was just one more thing to go on the list of things that didn’t matter. “I can’t imagine you actually wanting to walk into battle alongside me.” Bitter, but she was _allowed_ bitterness, after everything that had passed between them.

(That first strike of the lightsaber— _her_ lightsaber—had come within centimeters of striking her neck. She was unlikely to forget it.)

At this, Atris squeezed her eyes shut and sighed. A susurrus from the holocrons swept through the room like the vanguard of a storm, but they at least stopped short of bursting into grating cacophony. “I—“ She touched a hand to her forehead, fingertips pressing hard against pale flesh. “I have much to atone for.” She did not elaborate, but for once, Kalani felt as if they understood each other perfectly. She didn’t need her to elaborate. “Driving the Sith away from Telos is where I would like to start the process of atonement.”

There was a part of Kalani, that bitterness, that remembered ten years ago and everything that went along with Atris and ten years ago. She did not let that bitterness rule her; she was careful to never let that bitterness rule her (And when it bled out anyways, it did so in small ways, never large ones; it needed to never be large ones). It didn’t change anything, whether or not her bitterness ruled her; she still had reservations, and they existed independently of all that. “I don’t know that that’s such a good idea, Atris. You’re not at your best, and the conditions of battle will likely be fierce.”

“I know that, Kalani. I am hardly ignorant of the ways of war.” Despite the fact that she had shunned war when it set the Outer Rim alight. “Nevertheless, I can do nothing here. I would sooner go somewhere I can be of use, and I can think of no place where I would be more useful than in fighting the Sith.” Atris’s mouth twisted as she looked away. “It is past time for me to enter the arena; attempting to shape events while staying outside of it has been utterly disastrous.”

It had, at that. And not to twist the knife, but really…

Kalani tilted her head, and sighed herself. At least that was met with no whispering from the holocrons. “Atris… In my experience, those who find themselves under the influence of a Sith holocron tend to behave erratically. And you have gathered dozens, and are under the influence of all of them. Say I agree to this, and we go to fight the Sith. How can I trust you not to become erratic in the heat of battle? How can I trust you not to do harm there?”

It wasn’t fair, shouldn’t be said. She shouldn’t be thinking about it like that, and that much knowledge was what kept the words steady and even. A general, still, thinking about her plans and strategies, thinking about what plans she could implement and which ways to implement them without sustaining too heavy casualties. She couldn’t afford to be sentimental about this.

Atris staggered a little as if struck, though that might just be exhaustion. She seemed to need to gather herself a little before replying, voice a little faint, “Well, I suppose you will have to keep a weathered eye on me. And if you think it likely that I will do harm to your cause, I pray that you do not hesitate. It may cost us the galaxy if you do not.”

And those words fell between them like the throwing down of a gauntlet, like the casting down of an executioner’s knife.

This was what they were, now. This was the destination they had reached. This was what war and betrayal and distance had wrought.

“Very well.”


End file.
